Bad Hair Day
by authoressnebula
Summary: Wee!chester fic. Dean's promised Sammy that getting his hair cut is fun, and then everything goes wrong. Dean's 8, Sammy's 4.


Dean normally loved getting his hair cut. It was easy enough to do: sit in a chair, watch as the scissors cut through his hair with no pain, then spring out for the sucker he knew was waiting. He always got the watermelon one; it was his favorite. He didn't mind that it was a lady who always did it, no matter what town they were in when Dad decided it was time for a hair cut. In fact, it meant getting cooed over and getting smiled at because he was just "too cute". He wasn't cute; he was eight years old, and he was well past the cute stage.

But if being "too cute" meant he could talk and talk to his heart's content, well, it wasn't so bad. He could talk about everything except what Dad did for a living. That was the only topic off limits, but Dean didn't mind. There were plenty of other things to talk about. He almost didn't like leaving the comfy chair when she'd finished.

Today, though, was Sammy's first hair cut. His hair had grown wild, but that meant Dean just needed to brush it a little longer each day. What else was he going to do with his day? He looked after Sammy.

Which was why today was suddenly not cool. Sammy had been looking forward to it, with Dean's promises of ladies who smiled and a sucker at the end of it all. He'd been smiling and bouncing around all morning, waiting until Dad took them to the nearest hair salon, and then had followed Dean in, all grins. That had lasted until a lady had come forward, pointing at Sammy and then pointing at the chair he needed to sit in. She hadn't been smiling. In fact, Dean was pretty sure she'd been frowning or even glaring at his four year old brother.

Sammy's grin had disappeared, and things had gone downhill from there. Another lady, one who _had_ been smiling, had come forward for Dean, and had seated him directly behind Sammy so he couldn't see his brother. "Can we cut my hair over there?" he asked again, trying to glance behind him. All he could see was the frowning lady and the top of Sammy's hair.

"No," said the lady, smiling at him. "Can you turn around and face forward?"

Reluctantly Dean did so, then realized that in the mirror, he could see everything behind him. Well, before the lady who was cutting his hair stepped directly behind his seat, and then Dean couldn't see anything at all. He craned his neck up to see, and the lady gently patted him into his seat again. "Is this gonna take long?" he asked.

"Not too long, but longer if you don't sit still," she told him. "Face forward, sweetie. Now, what grade are you in?"

"First," Dean said, trying to see Sammy in the mirror. Finally the frowning lady moved, and Dean could see his brother in Sammy's mirror. He definitely wasn't smiling, and his usually babbling brother was perfectly silent.

Dean _really_ wanted his hair to get finished. In fact, he'd never wanted his hair cut to get finished so fast before. He didn't care about the sucker at the end; he wanted out of the comfy chair so he could go see Sammy and make him smile. Why wasn't he smiling? Sammy was usually happy around everyone, even strangers. Okay, the lady who was cutting his hair looked mean almost, but that hadn't bothered Sammy before.

Finally Dean's hair was cut, and he flew out of the chair, yanking off the black cloth she'd put over him and running the few short steps over to his brother, who was almost finished. "Sammy? You okay?" he asked.

Sammy glanced over at him, then back at the lady who was cutting his hair, and made a "Mm-hm" sound that was supposed to mean he was okay. Everything about his brother said that Sammy _wasn't_ okay.

"You're done," the lady said shortly, pulling the black cloth off of Sammy. Sammy slid down the chair slowly, then waited beside Dean. Dean frowned at his brother, but Sammy still said nothing.

This was _so_ not good.

Dean took his brother by the hand and walked up to the counter to pay for the cuts. Dad had given him the money beforehand, and he usually let Dean keep the change. Today, though, Dean didn't care. He handed the money over to the lady in charge, then grabbed the basket full of suckers off the counter. "Which one do you want?" he asked his brother, smiling even though Sammy wasn't. _Come on Sammy, smile already!_

Sammy just looked at the basket like he didn't know what it was, then shook his head. Dean paused for a moment, then grabbed the watermelon one and a root beer one, before putting the basket back. He could see Dad across the street, waiting in the car, and shoved the suckers into his pocket. "C'mon, let's go," he said, forgetting all about the money and the suckers and the hair cut. He took his brother's hand in his and practically led him from the hair salon.

Even Dad noticed when they got in the car. "What's the matter, boys?" he asked, turning around from the driver's seat. Sammy didn't say anything, and Dean could only shrug helplessly.

Dad stared at Sammy for a long time, then turned his gaze back to Dean with a look that very clearly said _Help your brother_. Dean nodded. Like his dad even had to ask.

Three hours later at the hotel, and Sammy still hadn't said anything. He'd picked at the crayons and coloring books he usually adored, and hadn't even asked for the TV to be turned on. Dad had left to get dinner not that long ago, leaving Dean in charge of his brother.

"You wanna watch Thundercats?" Dean finally said when the room was just too quiet. "It's on in a few minutes."

Sammy shook his head. He was seated now on the side of the bed, feet dangling off the floor, head fixed to stare at the hands in his lap.

Dean sighed and stepped over to his brother. Once he'd made himself comfortable beside his brother on the bed, he leaned over to try and see his brother's face. It wasn't easy, with Sammy huddled over so far, and Dean almost fell off the bed before he could see Sammy's face. "Sammy, what's the matter?" he asked.

Sammy's bottom lip quivered, and Dean knew that something was _really_ wrong. Sammy had been insisting that he was all grown up like Dean, and since Dean didn't cry anymore, Sammy wouldn't cry anymore, either. "Your hair looks better," Dean said, trying to get Sammy's mind off of whatever it was that had him so upset. "You look older now, too. Like maybe even 6 years old older."

Sammy burst into tears. Dean immediately wrapped his brother in a bear hug while Sammy sniffled and cried. "What happened?" he asked.

"S-She was really m-mean," Sammy stammered through his hiccups. "S-She told me not to-to move, so I dinnit, a-and she...she..."

"Shh, it's okay," Dean said. "She's gone now, and we're not ever gonna go back, okay?"

"She grabbed my head at the top and she wouldn't let go," Sammy whispered. "She said she dinnit want me to get hurt with the skissors, but h-her fingers hurt worser, and I dinnit move Dean, I promise, a-and she t-told me that only b-b-b-babies gots upset and..." Sammy hiccuped, his voice getting louder and more distressed as he kept going. "A-And-"

Dean pulled his brother in even tighter, glaring over the top of Sammy's head to where the invisible lady was in his mind. "I'm sorry Sammy," he said, and Sammy merely sniffled and hugged him close. After everything Dean had promised him...

Dean pulled back a little, then frowned when he looked at Sammy. Sammy frowned in return. "What?" he asked, sniffling again and rubbing at his now red eyes.

"I was wrong; she dorked your hair up," Dean said, and that made Sammy frown even more.

"What do you mean?"

"She missed parts," Dean said in his all-knowing-big-brother tone. "It doesn't look good at all. We gotta fix it."

Sammy's tears had all but disappeared, and only their trails remained on his face. "How?" he asked, fully believing Dean.

For a reply, Dean slid off the bed and hurried over to Dad's first aid kit. He knew there was a pair of scissors inside, and within seconds he had them in his hands. "C'mon; I can cut it better," Dean said, holding the scissors up.

Sammy didn't hesitate in sliding off the bed and saying, "'Kay." Dean grinned and pointed to the bathroom. Truth was, Sammy's hair looked just fine, but the lady had dorked up, and in an even bigger way than Sammy's hair, and that was what Dean intended to fix.

"Up on the toilet," Dean said, once he'd closed the lid. Sammy obediently sat, and Dean solemnly took the task of examining each side of his brother's head, like he'd seen the ladies at the hair salon do. "We gotta trim up the sides," Dean told him, having no clue what that really meant. He'd heard them say it all the time, though.

"Do you know how to cut hair?" Sammy asked, but it wasn't a doubtful tone he used. In fact, it sounded a little awestruck, and Dean stood up straighter.

"Yup. Mom used to cut my hair like this when I was littler." For a moment, Dean stopped everything, thinking back to his mom. She'd seated him just like this in the bathroom, and had gently clipped away stray strands until she'd declared him to look as handsome as a prince.

"Is she in Heaven?" Sammy asked. It was the usual question he asked, and Dean had gotten really good at answering it.

"With all the angels and St. Peter and golden gates," he said, like it wasn't a big deal. "Now hold still; I don't wanna cut your ear off."

Sammy giggled but stayed still, and Dean reached forward, cutting off little tiny pieces of hair. He went to the other side and did the exact same thing, then leaned back to admire what he'd done. "Much better. Now I can let you out of the room without you embarrassing me or yourself."

Sammy smiled broadly, and Dean couldn't help but grin himself. Back to normal. Well, as normal as they were; Dean was fairly certain that hunting demons _wasn't_ on the list of Things Normal People Did.

He reached into his back pocket, where the two suckers he'd grabbed were still tucked away. Sammy's eyes lit up when Dean held them up. "I promised you a sucker," Dean said. "Pick one."

Sammy's eyes darted back and forth, before he glanced up at Dean. "Can I have the watermelon one?" he asked.

Without hesitation Dean placed the watermelon sucker in Sammy's hand. "Don't chew it," Dean advised. He'd done that once, and his teeth had never hurt so bad.

He slid the wrapper off the root beer sucker and stuck it in his mouth. It wasn't that bad, really. It just wasn't his favorite.

He'd get two watermelon suckers next time, that was all.

"This gonna take long?"

"Dean, there's something called patience. Give it a try for once, will you?" Sam said, raising his eyebrows at his brother. Dean rolled his own eyes in response, sitting in the stylist's chair with a heavy sigh. The stylist came forward, a cute thing with an ample chest, and she liked talking. Dean hummed a few times when she expected a response, told her a few basic things that kept her going, and smiled once in a while when she didn't have the scissors or the razor in her hands because women tended to get lost for a little bit when he turned on the smile to full wattage. It was just something that happened; Dean couldn't be responsible for it.

He heard a soft chuckle behind him, and glanced up at the mirror in front of the chair. He could see Sam from the shoulders up (tallish freak that he was), and the stylist who was trimming his hair was going completely ga-ga over him. She said something, Dean wasn't sure what, and Sam gave a shy smile. She seemed pleased with herself, and Dean turned his attention back to his own stylist.

Even after twenty years, habits were hard to break. He hadn't gone into another hair salon after that day without making sure that Sam wound up with the sweetest stylist there was. Ladies that frowned or even glared got the full force of Dean's own glare, and that was something that made them stop for a moment, too.

Most stylists these days tried their best to make Sam smile, though, so Dean was content to let his own hair get cut without worrying about Sam.

He still kept his eyes on the mirror, though. He was a big brother; he couldn't help it.

Neither of them ever took long, and Dean pulled a twenty from his wallet, handing it to the woman at the front desk. "Split the change between them," Dean said, nodding towards their stylists. "You comin', Sammy?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me a minute," Sam muttered, pulling out two suckers from the basket on top of the counter. He tossed one at Dean who grinned at the watermelons decorating the wrapper.

"You still want a sucker? There's better things out there, like women, to su-"

"Do _not_ even finish that sentence," Sam threatened, and Dean chuckled as they left the hair salon. "Besides, if you don't want it, I'll take it."

"I didn't say that," Dean said, pulling the wrapper off and popping the sucker into his mouth with determination. Sam just chuckled and unwrapped his own, starting from the bottom until the wrapper was one smooth piece of paper. Geek.

Dean grabbed the paper from his brother's hand and wadded it up with his own, tossing both into a nearby trashcan. Sam glared at him, and Dean grinned around his sucker.

Dean loved getting his hair cut.


End file.
